


Desperate Souls

by beta_cygni



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Fix the whole thing, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, True Love, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:16:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beta_cygni/pseuds/beta_cygni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Rumplestiltskin had found true love in his darkest hour instead of a magic dagger?</p>
<p>(Rated Non-con for a brief attempted rape)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Souls

**Author's Note:**

> I have trouble watching The Crocodile because it makes me want to yell at everyone and throw things... So I've put it to good use for a change.

The sun was filtered through the forest canopy. It shone golden-green on the two figures who walked, close together, through the patchy woods around the village. One was a man, the other a young boy.   
  
Their faces bore the same set of wide, amber eyes. The man was slender and his walk furtive, though a limp stiffened his gait and he used a staff for balance. His shoulder-lenght hair was an ashy brown and fell in untidy locks. The boy was wearing layers of tattered clothing like his father, though his hair had been carefully combed and it shone like polished wood. As they crossed a clearing, another man emerged from the grove opposite them. He was tall, black-bearded and loping. The father's eyes instantly became chary. Although they never met the other man's gaze, he nearly imperceptibly changed his course, veering away. The tall man however, responded by pointedly marching towards the pair. He eventually was too close for the other man to evade him any further. He cracked a grin and boomed:  
  
"Oy; if it isn't Spindleshanks... Or is it Threadwhistle?"  
  
The slender man said nothing; his face had become wooden. He was fixing a point off to the side in avoidance but his free hand had clutched the boy's shoulder. The other man continued:  
  
"Where are you going, Hobblefoot?"  
  
"It's _Rumplestiltskin_." The boy piped with the bravado that comes so easily to nine year-olds. His father however flinched.  
  
" _Bae_..." He rebuked in a whisper. The bearded man let out a cackle.  
  
"Heh, more talkative than his father... Or wait... Might not be your father anyway; there's some hope for you boy..."  
  
The browned-eyed man's stony expression gave way to a wounded look. The boy scowled and stirred but the fingers on his shoulder had tightened.  
  
"Don't talk to my boy like that." The father said quietly. He had been shifting slightly in an attempt to keep walking but the tall man insisted on blocking the way.  
  
"Well, kid; let's do a little test; can you _run_ as fast?"  
  
With that, the tall man sharply kicked the walking stick. Unprepared, the limping man stumbled and fell to one knee.   
  
"Papa!" The child exclaimed.   
  
The black-haired man threw his head back with laughter but was abruptly silenced when something struck his head, exploding in a spray of pale mush. The thinner man, who had recovered his cane and footing, took a step back in surprise while the boy's mouth fell open in childish amusement. The bully glared angrily and began cursing but another projectile bounced off his shoulder and rolled on the ground. It was an apple. It was immediately followed by another, splattering dangerously near the man's eye. Juice and browning pulp were running down his face as he whirled around, trying to spot his assailant.  
  
"Good for nothing brats... Don't think I won't find you..." He yelled.  
  
The father was also peering around with some wariness although the child, completely trusting that the apple-thrower was only targeting their tormentor, let out a high, happy chortle. His father motioned a nervous hand towards him.  
  
"Come, Bae... Let's go." He said urgently, throwing a cautious glance at the angry man who was now storming towards the line of trees.  
  
"Did you see, Papa?" The boy cheered looking back and the bully's back as they hurried away, "Good shot! Right in the head..."  
  
"Shhh, Bae, _please_... I _saw_ , okay?" The man answered and they vanished into the opposite woods.  
  
Meanwhile, the man dripping with apple pectin was furiously thrashing through the thicket. He nearly trampled a delicate woman in a blue dress who had strolled into his path, reading a book. She shrieked and glared at him.  
  
"Well, what a sight; what kind of _animal_ are you?" She snapped with open disgust.  
  
The man scowled at her menacingly but was too single-minded in his quest to linger over her.  
  
"You seen any kids, with apples?" He spat roughly.  
  
"I wouldn't tell you if I did. Get a hold of yourself." She scolded as the man cussed and kept on marching. She watched him disappear among the branches and the sound of his stomping faded away.   
  
Belle let out a breath and gingerly put the book back into her knapsack, careful not to dirty the cover too much with her sticky hands. She crouched and wiped the juice off her fingers as best as she could on the grass. The apples had been soft; half-rotten. She had hoped they would have been hard, like stones.  
  
At least, perhaps Rumplestiltskin would understand that someone was on his side. Perhaps he would even smile, like Bae had just then.        
  
Still shaken, she made her way towards the house where she read books, twice a week, to an aging blind woman. The small, remote village they lived in was mostly populated by mercenaries who fought at the behest of the lord of the seigniory, the smiths who armed and dressed them and a few farmers. Literacy wasn't fostered among them in general, though there were exceptions. Belle's father had been insistent on teaching her how to read, which she, in turn, had grasped early and eagerly. She was curious and imaginative and books provided solace from hardships, like occasional war efforts and harsh winters. Her language skills also ensured her modest livelihood as villagers employed her to read contracts and correspondence on their behalf.  
  
The old woman was by far her favourite client. The woman had been an avid reader herself but cataracts had robbed her of that pleasure. Belle would have gladly read to her as a friend and not for payment, but the woman insisted on supporting her and Belle had little choice but to accept. Times were hard and the widow had lived in relative comfort.   
  
Once Belle arrived at the small cottage, she gave a quick knock at the door before entering.  
  
"Good afternoon, Ayleth."  
  
As always, the petite, elfin woman was seated near the front window. She reminded Belle of a tree, gnarled and silvery but still graceful; a wizened dryad. As Belle approached and leaned over, leaving a peck on her cheek, Ayleth sniffed delicately.   
  
"Mmmmm. Apples. A bit overripe though..."  
  
She spoke slowly, unhurriedly, as if she had all the time in the world. Her voice and mind were as clear and her eyes were cloudy.  
  
"Yes... Sadly they weren't good to eat; full of worms. How are you?"  
  
"Oh, the sun is out and crickets are chirping; I am rather well. Though my friend's heart is heavy..."  
  
"I'm fine; don't worry." Belle said with a chuckle she believed wasn't strained.  
  
"I don't need eyes to know you're not smiling, beauty."  
  
Belle sat on the chair across from the woman and quietly pulled out the book from her bag.  
  
"It's over _him_ again..." The woman sighed.  
  
"I don't need to talk about it, Ayleth. It doesn't ever change, anyway. Do you need more tea?" Belle said softly.  
  
"No tea. He is still heartbroken, then?"   
  
Belle accepted that Ayleth's wouldn't drop the matter. When the crafty woman decided that something needed to be said in the open, there was no wavering. After a moment, Belle replied.  
  
"Yes. Time doesn't seem to make it better. If anything, it's getting worse somehow."  
  
"And are you still keeping your distance?"  
  
"No..." Belle shuffled uncomfortably, "I do speak to him; and I get your wool..."  
  
"But you _say_ nothing..."  
  
"Ayleth..."  
  
"She's gone. What _honor_ are you guarding now?"  
  
"He's _grieving_. He loves her. I guess I want... to respect that. Besides, it's like he's out of reach; like he has retreated. It doesn't help that people are so ruthless. It's like with my father; even when he got sick... Well, _especially_ when he got sick... how they just turned on him. I don't know why they do that."  
  
"They worship the strong; they worship power. Inevitably, they shun the value of being gentle. So. Rumplestiltskin refused to fight..." Ayleth turned to the window, as if she could see the sun streaming through the trees. "My husband was a skilled warrior. And he was a good man, and he provided a good, safe life for the rest of my days. But war took him early. It was his- no- _our_ path and I don't dare regret. But hindsight is a tricky thing and one gets plenty of that at my age. Why, it would also have been _good_ to live a harder life, perhaps even a shorter life, but to have had him by my side longer; to have raised a family, together." She smiled at Belle, "There is no evil in choosing love; choosing _life_..."  
  
"I only wish more people understood this." Belle sighed, "They keep picking Rumple's bones; it never stops."  
  
"Well then, you keep throwing rotten apples at them buzzards."  
  
Belle looked up at the old woman's milky but twinkling eyes and smiled back. She picked up the book and opened it where the bookmark had been left.  
  
"Oh, and please don't forget to go get my wool tomorrow, beauty. I'm running low."

 


End file.
